Playing With Toys: End Game
by TeaOli
Summary: After playing with their toys, Spock and Uhura finish the game. An M-rated sequel to Playing With Toys. Complete.
1. End Game

When the his office door chimed well after office hours two days before the end of exams, Spock expected the usual panicked cadet seeking him out to beg for eleventh-hour assistance. He was therefore very surprised to find instead, the smiling green face of Cadet Gaila, who had already taken her Advanced Systems Programming exam and turned in her final project.

The Orion entered his office in a lively manner quite dissimilar to that of most who sought out his company there. In fact, Spock could not remember a single instance before where anyone had _bounced_, as a human might say, into this particular room situated in the Hsu Lang Computer Sciences Building.

"Oh good, Lieutenant," she said as she approached his desk, swinging a large cloth bag. Her steps lost none of their exuberance in deference for the small space, "I'm so glad I found you here! I was afraid I was going to have to head all the way over to your quarters. Looks like I dodged Zetlek's arrow this time." She smiled even wider, dropped her bag on the floor and abruptly made use of the chair before his desk by means of thrusting her buttocks back while (apparently simultaneously) lifting both of her feet from the floor. She landed in the seat with a faint thud.

Spock lifted a highly mobile eyebrow.

"Cadet," he said, "as you have already completed your coursework and examinations for Advanced Systems Programming, I cannot help wondering what brings you to my office today." He eyed the bag on the floor warily.

Cadet Gaila winked at him.

"But I'll bet you can give a pretty good guess," she said with a little laugh.

He did not sigh. He wanted to of course — Cadet Gaila had that effect on _many_ in her acquaintance — but he refused to give in to the urge.

"If pressed to speculate, I would presume that your visit had something to do with the small gold-colored box protruding from your bag," he told her in his customarily flat tones.

"You would presume right!" she exclaimed, smiling broadly.

Then she snatched the box from the bag and leapt to her feet. With what Spock did not doubt was a valiant attempt at looking solemn, the red-haired cadet stepped up to his desk and presented the box to him in two outstretched hands.

"I hope you will find this small token of my appreciation and of my faith in you useful, sir," she said in an equally valiant attempt to _sound_ as solemn as she had attempted to appear. Unfortunately for the cadet, her voice was still laced with laughter and traces of a smile remained on her lips.

Spock accepted the box and thanked her anyway.

Cadet Gaila pivoted smoothly and bent to pick up her bag, giving him an unasked-for view of her red uniform briefs in the process. (Prudently, he turned away before she glanced back to see if her was looking.) She straightened up and headed for the door.

Just before exiting, she looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Open that before you see Ny on Thursday, sir, but don't open it here," she ordered. With another wink, she left Spock alone in his office.

* * *

"Gods, Gaila! I'm being so stupid. Again!" Uhura slammed the top drawer of her bureau closed. "It's just dinner with Spock. Just like every other blasted Thursday." She swung and fell back against the bureau, arms folded tightly over her chest. And growled.

Her roommate grinned from her perch on the bed across the room.

"First of all, sweetie, you are _not_ being stupid. You are, in fact, being smart about this for the very first time since you set foot on Academy property. I talked to your sister and she says you used to know what you were doing!" Gaila stood and walked over to Uhura. "Secondly, this is _not_ 'just dinner with Spock.' It is the last dinner you will ever have with him as a Spock-virgin, and therefore a momentous event. Let's face it, it's probably also the last time — for a while, anyway — that you can confidently wear something pretty over to his place without the fear of him ripping it to shreds." She slipped an arm around her friends shoulder and directed her over to the closet doors. "Vulcans are _strong_, Ny. Passionate under that cold, stiff façade. And this particular Vulcan wants to eat you up. So, it's only logical to want to dress up the feast, so to speak."

With a sigh, Uhura watched as Gaila slid open the door and began rifling through the clothes inside.

"Upenda said you used to have some really nice things, but that you gave them all away when you left for the Academy," the Orion commented, her head buried among colorful clothing. "I'd call it a waste, but you've got all those muscles now — Zetlek! You were a skinny brat when we first got here — so they probably wouldn't fit you now, anyway. Lucky for you, these days I do my shopping with you in mind."

The last elicited a startled harrumph out of Uhura.

"Gai, we're hardly the same size," she protested.

Gaila shook her head, but didn't turn around or pause in her inspection of the closet's contents.

"A few inches here or there doesn't matter when it's all vertical, sweetie," she said. "In fact, those Jolly Brown Giantess legs of yours only make a mini that much more aesthetically pleasing. Spock's eyeballs would probably pop out of his head if he didn't already see you in a barely-there skirt everyday.

"So, this is my strategy: cover you up, but leave everything exposed – to his imagination. Thank Tarliv for stretchy fabrics!"

* * *

It was her turn to cook. Spock had hoped she would prepare the lentil dish she had made the first time he had touched her bare flesh, but the assortment of vegetables in her cloth grocery sack and her declaration that tonight was "Late Twentieth Century America Night" suggested his hopes were in vain. Salads, in his opinion, were not sexually stimulating.

She smiled at him from the other side of the work surface as she tore up various greens and tossed them into a device meant to spin them dry. When she was finished with the greens, she carried the perforated inner tub of the device, over to the sink and carefully rinsed all traces of her touch from torn leaves. She reassembled the device, and activated the manual pump embedded in its cover to start the spinning.

"If you would finish this," she told him, "I'll get started on the other veggies. The sooner everything is ready, the sooner we can eat."

He was not particularly interested in eating at the moment — the garment she wore covered her from neck to wrist to ankle, but clung to every millimeter of flesh it outlined. It subtly shimmered and was nearly the same brown as her beautiful skin. To human eyes, he suspected, there would be no difference between the two. She would appear nearly naked. (It was, in fact, made of the same fabric as Nyota-doll's "skin.")

His breath had caught in his throat when she had shed the green knee-length vest she had been wearing over it when she arrived at his quarters. The garment had no seams that he could immediately detect, and he had found himself preoccupied with deducing the method of its removal.

Spock was certain she'd worn the garment with the express purpose of increasing his anticipation; he suspected Cadet Gaila had a hand in choosing Nyota's clothing.

He moved around the work surface to operate the device as she began to chop up the rest of her ingredients.

They ate on his sofa. She had not expressed surprise at his choice of dining location. Each of the two preceding meals had taken place, in some part, in the sitting area of his quarters. The sofa, he found, was especially conducive to facilitating closer contact with Nyota. She liked to "snuggle" with him there while they discussed whatever culture they were observing on a given Thursday.

For "Late Twentieth Century America Night," she had selected a vid she had heard was a nearly accurate representation of the dominant culture of the time and place. He knew it would afford significant opportunity for snuggling.

* * *

"I believe that your expert on late twentieth century film may need to reassess his or her understanding of the United States during that period of time," Spock told her as the credits rolled. Her head was in his lap, and he was stroking her hair. "I fail to see how a film that focuses primarily on the emotional development of a genius maintenance worker can be said to sufficiently reflect an entire culture."

She turned her head to smile at him.

"I think Gaila just thought we'd enjoy the vid," she admitted. "She probably made up the nonsense about its cultural ramifications as an inducement to get me to watch it with you. I guess I should have done my own research, or at least given greater consideration to my source."

She reached up a hand to stroke his face.

"On the other hand, _Good Will Hunting_ is as much a love story as it is a character study. And it _did_ examine the prejudices that are attached to an individual's occupation, so perhaps it was appropriate material for our cultural exchange, after all."

Spock tried to block out the sensation her hand was causing so that he could form an articulate response. Failing, he captured her wrist and brought her fingers to his lips for a brief kiss before tucking back at her side.

She raised an eyebrow and mouthed _Vulcan control?_ but, did not interrupt him when he started to speak.

"It would perhaps have been appropriate if we had planned to discuss rebellious prodigies who have experienced difficulties in achieving culturally acceptable emotional development." His own eyebrow and tilted lips dared her to laugh. He continued when she settled on smiling mischievously at him. "I believe your roommate's more likely intent was to make a comparison between the Will Hunting character and me. I, however, have a significant advantage over Mr. Hunting. I have no need to 'go see about a girl.' She is where she belongs."

Her answer was a kiss that said she expected their anticipations to be met before the night was over.

* * *

"_I've_ completed _my_ exams, Spock," Uhura cajoled. "_You_ don't have any more exams to administer. Can't we just say, since it's true for both of us, that 'the end of exams' came this afternoon when I walked out of Subspace Physics for very last time?"

For a moment he looked almost surprised. But after an instant, his settled back into its usual smooth mask.

He reached down and trailed his fingers down her arm.

"I believe that was our original agreement… Cadet," he said.

She didn't think she imagined the teasing note in his voice.

* * *

The rules were clear. She was not to touch him without permission. She would trust him, but she would tell him if she felt overwhelmed at any point.

Once again, she watched him strip off his casual clothing while sitting in the wooden chair near the bed. But this time, when he was standing before her, naked and visibly ready, she stood and reached behind her neck to undue the buttons that had been hidden by her fall of hair.

She heard his faint intake of breath when the brown catsuit fell away from her body.

"Lie down on the bed, Nyota," he whispered.

After she complied, first easing back the heavy duvet and then stretching out on the crisp sheets, she held her breath as he moved to the other side of the bed and lay down next to her.

* * *

Spock did not touch her immediately. Instead, his eyes began a slow exploration of the exquisite vision her body presented. Even in the muted lighting, the contrast of her even brown skin against his pale gold sheets was strikingly pleasing.

Or, perhaps it was simply _Nyota_ that was pleasing.

Her lovely face was, of course, entirely familiar to him. He'd spent hours of his life watching it transcribe all manner of thoughts and emotions that followed through her brilliant mind. He had seen it show joy through brightened eyes and curving lips; and anger with furrowed brows and pursed lips. He recognized pain and pleasure and even sorrow etched across her features. He had watched passion and determination and obstinacy show themselves there. Now, he could see her desire for him written in the heavy droop of her eyelids and in the swollen lushness of her full lower lip.

He found her face and its ability to convey what she was thinking and feeling endlessly fascinating. He believed he could spend the rest of his life gazing upon it, but still not learn all of its beauty. The idea was illogical, but the belief held him and would not be shaken free.

His eyes traveled down her slender throat, across each shoulder and over small, firm breasts crested in hardened points the color of chocolate. He wondered if they would prove to be equally intoxicating if tasted them.

Putting thought into action, he abandoned restraint and leaned forward. Tracing circles over her smooth belly with one hand, he dipped his head to hover over one erect nipple. He watched it tighten further at the touch of his warm breath.

Almost without his permission, his tongue snuck out to taste temptation. She whimpered under its cautious exploration. With a groan, he followed tongue with teeth and lips.

It was an effort to release her and continue his visual assessment of her body. Through touch he had become privy to her focused need for him. He had nearly been lost in the sense of their mingled desire and had not wanted to let go.

He let his gaze move over the expanse of firm skin outlining the muscles and bones of his Nyota. That she was his was not in doubt. Her flesh trembled for him. He had felt the intensity of her longing for him. He knew it was different from… _more complete than_ any she had felt for any other.

The thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs drew him in. He could smell her arousal; it mirrored, and then deepened, his own. His already engorged _lok_ hardened even further. He strove to distance his mind from the physical manifestation of his want.

"_Touch me again, k'diwa_," she begged in Kiswahili and Vulcan.

He could not deny her.

* * *

To Uhura, his gaze was as hot as his hands, but not nearly as satisfying. She craved his touch the way her lungs craved air. This all encompassing need had been unexpected, but now made complete sense. She was his and he was hers. They both only lacked the claiming.

A fiery trail seared her flesh in the wake of fingers tracing her ribs, the indentation of her belly button, the length of her legs. His dark eyes burned into hers.

"_More_," she murmured, unconsciously slipping into her native tongue. Her growing hunger made coherent thought difficult.

His dark head bent towards her and she rose up to meet him. He ghosted his lips over hers and her mind screamed _Not enough!_ as they moved away again.

Not touching him was torture. Her fingers curled into the sheets in an effort to keep from reaching out. He was so close.

A hand moved to her hip and heated suffused her entire body. His touch became the entire universe.

One finger, now, sliding over to explore the next of dark hair covering her mound. Two, now, parting her folds. His thumb moving in, taking over, rubbing against the sensitive nubbin it found.

She shuddered violently. He gasped with her. His mouth was on hers, drinking in her cries of pleasure and her pleas for… _more_.

He thrust his tongue into her mouth, dancing, tasting, stroking her own while his fingers mimicked its movements in her core.

* * *

**A/N:** One more chapter to come.

Disclaimer: I don't own them.


	2. Mate

Spock was gliding. He was riding the thermals of the delight Nyota took from his hands and mouth. Every stroke of his tongue, every thrust of his fingers spiraled her higher and he was snatched up behind her. Euphoria grew and grew, expanding past all boundaries she had previously known. He felt her fear and surprise mingle with her desire for… _more_.

Then they were up above clouds of pleasure and the bright heat of… ecstasy was burning down on them, wrapping around them, weaving in between their cells.

Building,

spreading,

rushing

until, suddenly,

a burst of blistering colors scorched her mind and she shattered in an explosion of bliss. And he was breaking apart with her, unable to see the place where the molecules that were Nyota stopped and those that were Spock began.

They fell back to Earth, to Starfleet Academy, his quarters, his bed, still joined, their panting breaths a harmony, their pounding hearts racing one above the other.

He withdrew his fingers from inside her, leaving off his intimate caresses. His lips lingered longer on hers, but because some part of him realized she needed oxygen independent of what he took in, he eventually found the will to drag his mouth away.

Beside him, she continued to tremble, wracked by occasional aftershocks long after the actual climax had passed.

He longed to hold her until the tremors were over, but feared touching her now would send them both rising into the sky again. He did not wish to take her too far. Not yet. She had the rest of her life to fly with him.

.

.

Zings of agonizing pleasure were shooting through every part of her being. Fireworks were going off behind her mind. Normal breathing was an impossible dream. Her heart was going to beat out of her chest.

Uhura was terrified that the next time, she would never find her way back, that she would float around forever in pieces, never solid enough to hold in the sensations Spock created in her. He'd been there with her, disintegrating in the bliss that had shattered her mind.

And yet, she longed for more. She wanted to feel it all over again.

He was close enough to touch, but he didn't touch her. She missed his hands on her body. Even as her entire being hummed with satisfaction, she longed for him.

She rolled closer to him and reached out. Her hand fluttered over the flesh covering his wildly racing heart.

He drew in a sharp breath when she touched him, breaking the rules they had both agreed to.

.

.

"Nyota," he gasped, "please. You must not—." He was still afraid he had given her too much, showed her more than she could take, allowed her to feel more than she could possibly bear. But she rolled closer and pressed her body against his and whispered in his ear, "_More_."

.

.

Any semblance of Vulcan control was lost.

Uhura was flying. Her wings were spread out behind her and she was climbing the sky with broad strokes that echoed the brush and scrape of flesh against flesh. Spock was lying on his back next to her and he was letting her touch him and she _was_ Spock because she felt him everywhere.

His pleasure seeped into her when her hand slid up and over him, away from his heart and she pushed her fingers through the hairs on his chest and he trembled beneath her touch. She felt them prickle against her palms again, but this time the sensation was real and she knew the pulses of electricity that arched from her hands to his flesh were real because she was Spock and she felt him everywhere.

His strength leaked through her when he lifted her onto him and she felt her knees clasp his hips because she was Spock and she felt him everywhere.

And when she leaned forward bite his chin and her breasts grazed his chest, she knew how the hard points of her nipples were pleasing because it was _her_ chest she was brushing against, those were her hairs tickling her skin and she cried out because she couldn't tell where he ended and Nyota began because she was Spock and she felt him everywhere.

Then she braced her hands on his/her shoulders and teased her wet center against the hard, burning ridge of his lok. Then she was searching for breath with him and could hear her voice coming from behind his clenched teeth and they both said, "Ride me, Nyota."

So she did.

.

.

Spock and Uhura were flying past the stars.

The vacuum of space could not touch them because they provided their own atmosphere. They breathed each other in and created their own heat as they moved as one.

His fingers folded around her hips as she rose up slowly gripping his length inside her. She clenched his hips with her knees and calves while plunging back down to meet him.

The sweet suction from sliding off over him, the mesmerizing friction of her flesh enveloping his when she slid down sent them soaring again and again. And when her wings tired, he took over, flying them faster and faster until the stars were a blur

and the colors rushed through both of them,

and bliss was splitting them into their molecules,

and pieces of them floated through space.

They crashed back to Earth, to Starfleet Academy, his quarters, his bed, still joined, their panting breaths a song and their pounding hearts dancing together.

And his lok was still hard.

.

.

Hours later, she lay in his arms, her head pillowed by his shoulder. She traced lazy designs on one flat pectoral.

"Spock," she murmured. She was too replete with satisfaction to bother with enunciation.

"Mm," her similarly affected lover managed to reply.

She nipped his ear to make sure he was paying attention. He paid attention.

"You don't think this is weird?" she asked, spreading out a hand to indicate the two of them, the bed.

Spock grabbed her hand and placed it back on his chest.

"No, not really," he told her. "It is not an uncommon practice among my father's people, as sexually satisfied females are inclined to mate more often.

"There is an ongoing debate over whether the original purpose is defeated if the male reaches climax without ejaculating, but there are many healers who would recommend the practice among mates who are apart for long periods of time. Much as with human women, the brains of Vulcan females release what you would call 'bonding hormones' during climax. So, by repeatedly pleasing his mate, the Vulcan male ensures her continued loyalty."

Uhura stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"I'm not talking about your weird Vulcan dry orgasms," she said and punched him in the chest muscle she'd just been caressing.

He rolled over on top over her and licked her neck.

"You did not find my 'weird Vulcan dry orgasms' objectionable when you were sharing them with me, Nyota," he murmured in her ear. He shifted his hips against hers and she could feel his lok hardening again. She squirmed in anticipation of more pleasure.

Laughing at own her reaction as much as at Spock's action, she shoved him away. He fell onto his back again, almost-smiling.

"Stop it!" she exclaimed through fits of giggles. "Stop trying to distract me!" She paused to regain control of herself then resumed drawing patterns on his chest with her finger. "I meant, isn't it weird that we went straight from, you know, maybe a little bit friends, but mostly teacher and student, to this? To _forever_? Without even stopping to date or anything?"

Spock turned on his side and shot her what she knew to be a concerned look.

"Is that what you believe has happened between us?" he wanted to know.

She couldn't imagine what else he expected her to think.

"Well, um, yeah. Sort of," she admitted. "I mean, I know you wanted to be with me for two years and nearly eight months, and you think I've wanted you for nearly as long — ."

He cut her off. "I only 'think' you wanted me, Nyota?" he asked, raising that eyebrow again.

She gave him a half smile.

"Well, okay, so I _have_," she confessed, "but I never really thought about _forever_ until the end of the year was coming and I knew I wouldn't be in any of your classes next year and I didn't know if you'd still want to spend time with me and— Don't you see, Spock? _That's_ what makes this weird!

"I didn't even know if you'd want to spend time with me next year, let alone that you wanted me to spend the rest of my life with you. We've never been on a single date, but we're already professing our undying love and deciding to get married and bonded and, Spock, by most current human standards, that's _odd_."

The concern faded from his face, to be replaced by another of those full smiles she was learning to love so much. He pulled her close to him and wrapped both arms around her.

"Nyota," he began, "what do you think we have been doing every Thursday night for the past three semesters, if not dating?"

She furrowed her brow, even though he couldn't see her face. He would feel her confusion through touching her.

"Cooking dinner, examining other cultures, learning things not necessarily taught in Academy classes— ."

He interrupted her list with a kiss on top of her head and brief squeeze.

"Define 'date' in its social connotation for me, Cadet," he ordered. She _felt_ his amusement more than she heard it in his voice.

"It's a courtship ritual in which two, or in some cases, more, individuals spend time together in order to assess one another's suitability as a romantic partner," she defined.

"And how is that different from what we were doing, Cadet?" he asked. "Although you previously felt desire for me, did you not come to the conclusion that I was a _desirable romantic partner_ during the time you spent with me _outside_ the classroom?"

She looked up at him and frowned fiercely.

"It doesn't count if one does not know one is on a date, Lieutenant," she said.

Spock bent to kiss away the lines forming between her brows.

"It is no fault of mine, Cadet, if you were not adept enough at reading social cues to realize that you were, in fact, dating me," he teased. "However, now that the situation has been rectified, I think it would be wise for us to continue to move forward. You have shown an exemplary ability to recover lost ground where you were once deficient."

He rolled on to his back once more, this time taking her with him.

"Before we commence assessing your progress, Cadet, I need to address another inaccurate statement you have made tonight." He ran both hands down her back to cup her buttocks. She clutched at his shoulders and pressed closer to him.

Her voice was somewhat strained as she asked, "What was this statement, sir?"

Spock slid her body up his until her ear was pressed against his lips.

"You said, Cadet, that we are 'professing our undying love and deciding to get married and bonded,'" he quoted. "While I believe I have _implied_ that my love for you will last your lifetime and mine, and I have _said_ that I wish to bond with you, I have not _professed_ undying love — though my feelings for you are just that — and further, I have not _decided_ to bond with you, as I need your cooperation in order to _decide_ to do such a thing, Cadet. Third, the subject of a Federation marriage never came up before tonight. And you have not even told me you love me."

Uhura turned her head so that her eyes stared into Spock's and her lips were less than a hair's breadth away from his.

"I love you, sir," she stated. "I wish to marry you, and become your bondmate — someday."

"In that case, Cadet," he murmured, his lips brushing hers, "let us continue your assessment."

* * *

Uhura awoke the next morning to find an awake Spock sitting up in bed, watching her.

Little Spock, wearing dark grey sleep pants and a black tank was tucked in her arms. Nyota Doll was tucked in _his_ arms, and wearing the sleep shirt that matched the dark grey pants.

Uhura glanced up to meet her Spock's smiling eyes.

* * *

**A/N:** And this time, "that's it" means "that's it!" Thanks for coming along for the ride!

Disclaimer: Y'all know I don't own 'em!


End file.
